Just Like This
by Empress Shellie
Summary: Sometimes, it's just difficult to read Dr. Sheldon Cooper.


So it's like this.

You go over the tedious but necessary annual State of the Relationship Summit because you need to be sure that things are going according to the contract you'd drawn up, with a little leeway for her once in a while just so she won't feel so restrained. You think the "petname" issue would be a cinch, considering you had sent her a list and should have chosen one by now, but her rejection only implies that you would have to wade again through another bin of possibilities.

She presents the last item on the agenda and you make a mockery of it, once again letting her know your disdain for the February occasion. But you allow her to make her case, making sure you listen to every word she says because you're going to need them to refute all her arguments. However, she's come prepared and you have no choice but to just plainly state you see no reason how you could get a kick out of the date. But she drops the word "vintage" and it gets your interest. You perk up after the full specifications of the train have been uttered and even admit to her about the urge to hug her. But you count off the building temptation, purposely ignoring her open arms, and you succeed.

So it's like this.

You board the train with her and the bite-sized married couple and marvel at the immediate surroundings, taking in every detail as your eyes sweep past them. She asks for your thoughts and you vocalize your feelings—your true feelings—over the setup, confessing how you already seem to be sure how wonderful this event will be. Hell, you even use the terms "best Valentine's Day ever" without cringing. She's glad that you're happy but you brush if off because you still need to check the train for hobos before you can call it perfect.

So it's like this.

The waiter presents the special meals on board but you're much more interested in the workings of the train than what will go down your gut. You pose a question, just for clarification, and you make a little pout, disappointed that someone who works in the train doesn't seem to know anything about it. But a voice behind you provides you with answers and it gets you all psyched up.

So it's like this.

Your new friend is just as enthusiastic about trains as you and you move to join him at his table, exchanging impressions of various locomotives. Suddenly, the tiny blonde comes forth and in a voice that's twice her height reminds you that you are on a Valentine's dinner with your girlfriend and demands that you return to your table. You look over your new friend's shoulder and meet your girlfriend's eyes, realizing your little blunder in the process. You really shouldn't be hogging all these information, anyway. So you get up, saying that you need to rejoin your table, then invite your new friend over, thinking they should also get to hear what he's passionately ready to share with you.

So it's like this.

You continue to chat with your new buddy, the talk being more palatable than your meal. When he mentions something you thought you already know very well, you come even more alive and look back at her, wanting to make sure she's absorbing all of this information as well. After all, it is pretty exciting stuff. And when he tells you that a little courtesy could buy you a chance to visit the engine room, you've just about lost it. You pull yourself up to a stand and head for the place before any other train fanatic can get hold of the news and beat you to it.

So it's like this.

You return from your little jaunt to the engine room, enthused by the fact that you share a similarity with the conductor as far as timepieces go and that after the conductor's shift ends, he could come over to the bed and breakfast to put on a little banjo show for the two of you. But she doesn't seem to be taking the news the way you hope she would. You see her stand up, mandating that she needs to talk to you—her boyfriend—in private, pronto. You watch as your companions take cue and leave. Then she snaps at your chubby friend and you call on her behavior and she throws it back at you, pointing out how you're the one who's being rude in the first place, though you cannot possibly fathom why.

So your friend voices out the tension he's sensing and tries to crack a joke which you think is funny but she barks at him and you know she isn't as amused. You decide to get to the bottom of this and ask what her problem is. Without hesitation, she answers about today being Valentine's Day and that you're supposed to be having a romantic weekend. Your eidetic memory works to your advantage and you pointedly remind her how she has said that the trip is supposed to be something you both can enjoy, emphasis on the word "both." You try to exact the truth, asking if she had meant it or if it is another ploy to get him on the trip.

So you get her to admit it's her plan, adding that she has done so because she deserves romance and has resorted to pulling such a stunt because she has no clue how else to make it happen. And for a moment there you pity her for having no other options to getting something she wants. But you hate that she has to deceive you into coming and you think you ought to hurl everything back at her, to prove that the concept of romance that she so desperately wants is a whole lot of baloney and is not a necessity in the kind of relationship you both have.

So it's like this.

You can count off on your fingers the numerous _romantic _things you find to be nonsensical but since you're out to make a point, you decide to use what's available. You look at the table and see the crystal glasses filled with wine. You reach out for her glass, even if there's one that's closer to you, because she's the only one whose germs you can tolerate to a certain level and you know you'll live despite knowing you've drunk from her glass. You make a noisy slurp, your face grimacing as the acrid taste leaves a burning sensation down your esophagus.

But you're not done with your tirade. So you tick off the second guidepost off your list, drawing your face close to hers in an effort to show how gazing into each other's eyes not only looks ridiculous but outright puts a strain on one's eyesight. She calls out your name, apparently embarrassed and has gotten the point and just wants you to stop. But you're not having any of it.

So you let her know what's coming next by stating how kissing is romantic and before she can protest, you press your lips to hers, your movement so fast you could have knocked her teeth out. You know you're tall; you can do this from a distance with you bent over at the waist a little bit. Besides, you know you're only doing this to prove something so a few seconds should be enough.

So it's like this.

Your eyes are closed, your lips fused to hers. Three seconds of this unsanitary action should be enough so you could move back, shoot her a condescending glare, and ask if that has made any difference. But there is a pause and in your mind is a debate whether to stop or to continue. Yet something has already changed within you and while you believe you've already made your point, a huge part of you simply just wants more.

So you take two steps forward until you're already toe-to-toe but this creates a string of other actions from straightening your back to pressing your lips down on hers with more pressure because the height difference would make it difficult for her to reach you and you just do not want to break the contact. Then you take command, wanting this to be something you're in charge of. But you feel her head tip back and you wonder if she wants you to stop. However, you don't want her to let go so you kiss her further, your mouth more forward and bold, making those little sucking motions to keep her latched on to you. You are, after all, the one in control.

Then you place your hand at the juncture of her waist and hip because you think you might need to hold yourself up upon her but when you notice that your knees are as strong and firm as your lips on hers, you realize you're holding her because you need to support her. And it isn't because she's weak but with how your ardent, seeking kiss is pushing her back like so, you might as well just have pinned her against the wall to keep her from falling.

So it's like this.

You realize that you like kissing her and you want to do this over and over again. And you could kiss her until forever but you have to stop yourself now because this situation has been provoked by anger and you want neither of you to be mad anymore. So you pull back, dreading to see hatred in her eyes either for overstepping on her boundaries or for having mocked the concept of romance far too much. And both ideas scare you so much because you cannot imagine going through life without tasting her lips again.

Your eyes dart back and forth from her eyes to her lips and your heart beats erratically as you wait for her to say something. She comments positively, though breathlessly, on your action, telling you that it's nice. You find your voice as well, calm but resolute, telling her just one word. And you don't say it to attest that you are able to send your message or to glorify at how you excel at your first attempt at kissing. You are merely glad that she's not angry at your impulsive behavior.

So it's like this.

You tell her about the conductor's irresistible offer to show you how to bring the train through a crossing and she consents, wishing that you'll have fun. But you want to share this exciting moment with her and the idea of leaving her alone in the coach is something that doesn't sit well with you. So you ask her if she wants to come with you. She seems pleasantly surprised but wants to know if you're sure you'd want her there. You nod eagerly, hoping it will erase all traces of doubt from her because the simple fact of the matter is that wherever you will go, you just don't want to be without her anymore.

And when she answers with "I do," for some reason, the first thing that comes into your mind is how she will say those same words to you in front of the altar because the next time you will kiss her openly in a public place is when she promises to spend the rest of her life with you…because you want to be with her just like this and that is how you'll always want it to be.

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_**

I have to admit: the Sheldon-initiated kiss drew me out of my writing hiatus. There's just something so magical about the whole thing that I couldn't resist writing. So, after basking in my feels the whole weekend, I finished this one up.

I used a new writing style I learned from my friend Jell. I thought of employing this style to be different, since I know that we'll all be writing about that kiss. Let me tell you though, it had been a challenge for me to write in the second POV. There's really not one particular person who's speaking here so you can just imagine that you're talking to Sheldon, pointing out to him what you see and what you know.

This is for all my Shamy peeps out there, especially to Pammie, who never left me during the dark moments of my life, even if I was away from the fandom. You're a true friend.

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own The Big Bang Theory nor the characters, though I'll always wish Sheldon were mine. I'm not making money out of this so please don't sue.


End file.
